The drive to my home took about thirty minutes. About half of that time was spent on the highway moving to the opposite end of the cylinder. The process was a bit confusing due to the nature of space colonies.
Zum City's highway only traveled one way: anti-spinward. When I traveled in a spinward direction, gravity decreased. When I traveled in an anti-spinward direction, gravity increased. If you were to drive quickly in a spinward direction, you would soon lose traction and crash. This fact wasn't obvious when travelling on foot, but it became obvious on the highway. I must have pulled an average of 2 Gs when I took the highway from the Sixth District to the Seventh District. To me, it felt like just another day at the office.
I opened the top of my convertible and smoked for most of the drive. A mixture of the nicotine in the cigarettes and the caffeine in the iced coffee kept me awake throughout the drive.
Thoughts of that attempted assassination dominated my mind as I drove down the highway. I probably should have killed him or made sure he was arrested, but the benefit to me would be minimal. Permanently disabling one assassin wouldn't change the fact that billions of people wanted me dead. In that light, getting the assassin thrown in prison wasn't worth the hassle of dealing with the police.
It was 0220 hours when I arrived at my home. The place was a brick townhouse in one of the better parts of town. It wasn't affluent by any means, but it was much better than I expected from the original Dogwood.
I found the townhouse with the number 401 written on its front and walked up to the front door. Once I was a meter away from the door, I switched gears to the next problem. My key to the townhouse had been lost with the Nordhausen.
There was a "Welcome" mat next to the door. In my old life, I had always kept a spare key under a mat like that one. My own forgetfulness had been a much greater threat to me than burglars or assassins back then.
When I checked under the mat, a small brass key was hidden in the exact same place I had hidden my own spare keys in my previous life. Ignoring the uncomfortable feeling skittering over my skin, I took the key and unlocked my front door.
The door opened a crack before getting stuck on a security chain. My eyes squinted in confusion. Either the original Dogwood had left the townhouse through the back door, or someone else was in my home.
"Uh, hello?" I called out into the townhouse. There was no immediate answer.
Theoretically, I could have used my revolver to destroy the security chain, but that was a military solution to a civilian problem. I didn't want to wake up everyone who lived within a kilometer of my townhouse.
The door closed on its own when I released it, and I circled around to the back. The back door was locked, but I was able to unlock it with a spare key. No security chain blocked my entrance when I stepped inside of my home.
"Hello!?" I asked once more as I put the surviving bottles of beer on the counter.
A cardboard box sat on the counter, and my name was printed on its side. I flipped open the assassin's butterfly knife and cut open the box. Inside was a non-standard gray uniform with the cloak and chest insignia of a naval captain.
The package was meant for me, and somebody must have brought it inside. There was most likely someone else living in my home.
I was sitting in the kitchen of my home, and a living room sat adjacent to the kitchen. I picked up a nearby notebook and pen to help organize my thoughts before walking over to the living room. Almost instinctually, I picked up a remote and turned the TV on. The TV switched to the news channel, which displayed a headline in all capital letters.
FUNERAL FOR SOVEREIGN DEGWIN ZABI TO BE HELD ON 1/19
The funeral was going to be held pretty soon after Degwin's death. He had only died on January 15th, and his funeral would be on the 19th. There was no body to recover, so that probably sped up the process.
I lit up another cigarette and took a deep swig of beer. For just a second, I existed in the moment and didn't worry about the future. For that one moment, nothing existed except for my own mind and my own body.
"Okay, break's over," I said, exhaling smoke from my lungs. "Time to get back to work."
I dumped my half-lit cigarette into the beer bottle and placed it on a nearby table before flipping the journal to the front page. Someone had already started writing in the journal, and it was written in a woman's handwriting. After flipping through a few pages, I was able to determine that the journal had been filled out by a woman named Helen Whitesmith. Most of the entries in the journal were either grocery lists or math equations. Apparently, Helen dabbled in statistical analysis.
The second half of the journal hadn't been filled in yet, so I began writing on the first available page. After about a minute of writing, I was done.
MISSION OBJECTIVES
Begin working on the United Maintenance Plan (UMP)
Form and train an ace team of Zaku pilots
Prevent Tianem from escaping
Deal with Zabi infighting
Deal with Char Aznable
Deal with Amuro Ray
Fulfilling all of the objectives in this list would be difficult, to say the least, but it was a goal for me to pursue. The last three objectives on my list used particularly vague verbs because I didn't want to create evidence of my intention to kill a group of significant people. In this context, "deal with" meant that they would need to be neutralized in some way. Killing the Zabis, Char Aznable, and Amuro Ray would be the most effective path, but there were other options available.